On the Run
by Ashfae
Summary: Post-game fic following Hawke and company after the events at the Gallows. Mine was a sarcastic rogue Hawke who friendmanced Anders. What she is now - and what they are, if anything - remains to be seen.
1. Hawke

They walk out of the Gallows, leaving destruction in their wake. No Templars follow. None will, Hawke knows. Whether it's respect, fear, or relief that holds the knights back doesn't matter, only that they're able to walk away.

For now. Which means they'd better walk fast, while they can. "Isabela, does that offer you made to me in the Hanged Man last week still stand?"

"Of course," the pirate answers immediately.

Hawke's eyes flicker to Anders. "All of it?"

"Of course. For everyone; I can always use more skilled hands on my ship. We can be ready to go in just a few hours, the tide should be high enough by dawn."

"Good." Hawke turns to face the others. "We'll need to leave Kirkwall," she tells them, watching the reactions cross their faces; flashes of chagrin, reluctance, denial, acceptance. "I don't imagine we'll be coming back to the Free Marches anytime soon, if ever. If you're going, be prepared for that. Sebastian's going to be hunting us, along with quite a lot of other people, I imagine. The whole Chantry, for all I know. So I can't ask you to come with us. But..."

Bethany smiles. "You don't have to ask, sister."

Varric scritches his chin. "I'll have to come back eventually, I have too much business here for anything else. But lying low for a while definitely has appeal."

"This is all the clan I have now, lethallan," Merrill says simply. "I will go."

Fenris is silent for a long time, glowering at Anders, who doesn't react. The elf's gaze moves to Hawke, Isabela and the others, back to Hawke. Finally, he lets out a sigh. "Very well."

Last, they all look to Aveline. The guard's face is somber as she slowly shakes her head.

Isabela is the first to protest. "You can bring Donnic," she invites. "I'll even drop you off at Ferelden if you want."

"That's not it. I have a duty here, and I cannot abandon it. Not so quickly, at any rate."

"Are you that anxious to be locked up in your own cells?" Varric asks. "I thought guards tried to avoid that kind of irony."

"I don't think it will come to that. According to Chantry law, the knight-commander doesn't have the right to invoke the Right of Annulment without approval from the Grand Cleric." Aveline grimaces. "Granted, thanks to Anders that's now difficult to get, but I can still make the case that Meredith was out of control and should have gotten approval from another Grand Cleric before calling for Anullment, particularly as the mage responsible for the Chantry's destruction was an apostate rather than a member of the Circle. The Right is a serious thing, and even the templars will back me up about Meredith's insanity after tonight. As she's now a lyrium statue I suspect even the strictest magistrate would give it a fair hearing. I don't have to leave. And I can't, not like this."

Hawke nods slowly, accepting this. "I...figured as much, really. I know you too well to think you could abandon the men under your command."

Aveline smiles. "No more than you can, my friend. Hawke..." She steps closer and lowers her voice. "You could stay as well. You're respected in Kirkwall, everyone would listen to you. We can rebuild. You don't have to leave."

Hawke's face is impassive. "Yes, I do."

Aveline's face hardens. "Not with Anders. He needs to stay and face the law. He _must_ answer for what he did."

Hawke stands firm, and doesn't so much as glance at where Anders is standing, listening to this. "He will."

There is tense silence for a long time as their gazes challenge each other, but finally Aveline backs down with a sigh. "Very well. I'll trust you one more time. Don't make me regret it."

"I'll make sure you don't." Hawke reaches forward and hugs the captain _hard_, which is difficult when both parties are wearing armor. "Thank you for your words to me, back before the battle," she says quietly. "Thank you for...everything."

Aveline smiles. "It's been an honor, Hawke. One I'll never regret." She steps back, looking at all of them, each in turn, memorizing their faces. When she looks at Isabela, she folds her arms over her chest. "I should have figured you'd find an excuse to get out of town before my dinner party next week."

Isabela shuffles, looking everywhere except at the guard-captain. "I don't do goodbyes. Just name the worst brat you have after me or something."

"No, I don't think I'll do that. Having a child called 'Shut up, whore' would incite too much comment."

Isabela laughs, though it's a more choked sound than a laugh should be. "Oh, hell, big girl. If you make me cry I'll have no reputation left."

Aveline grins. "You don't _have_ any reputation to speak of. Slattern."

"Prig." Isabela reaches forward to give Aveline a quick hug, then moves quickly out of earshot without looking back, waiting for the rest to finish their goodbyes. Aveline clasps arms with Fenris and Varric, promises to pass on their farewells to Donnic, accepts another hug from Bethany. Ignores Anders, who makes no move to approach her. And, finally, walks away.

Only after Aveline is out of sight does Hawke take a breath and start speaking again; Isabela rejoins the group to listen. "I imagine we all have details to take care of, before we go. We should have a few hours to take care of things; we can't sail before that, anyway, and no templars will be looking for us tonight. No guards either, they'll be too busy. Still, be cautious. We'll meet at Isabela's ship in three hours. Don't take longer than that."

"How do we know which ship is the right one?" Merrill asks. "They all look alike to me."

"Look for the name on the side of the boat, Kitten. My beauty's _The Siren's Call_."

"I thought that was the ship you lost."

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to come up with that name the first time? Besides, why waste a perfectly good name? It's not as though someone else was using it."

Hawke breaks through this; there's too much to arrange and no time. "Isabela, take Anders with you. He needs to get out of sight as soon as possible. Bethany, too. I'll pick up anything they might need from the estate." She doesn't wait for an answer to this, doesn't give either of them a chance to protest, doesn't wait to see if either intends to protest. "Three hours," she reminds everyone, and turns and runs for Hightown.

* * *

><p>Hightown is a wreck. Whatever Anders did destroyed not only the Chantry, but any houses near it, and the falling architecture has done more damage yet. All around is fire and screaming and destruction. Some people recognize the Champion and beg for help or information or comfort. She can't offer comfort, but does stop to help lift monstrous amounts of debris so others can pull out those trapped underneath, and the other assistance requiring physical strength; that much, she owes them. Information, she decides to keep to herself, aside from the vaguest of assurances that the worst is over. Which for Kirkwall, it probably is.<p>

For everywhere else...

She wishes she could have brought Anders. He should have seen this. The thought hurts her, in a vague, dull way, and she pushes it aside.

Her own estate is not too near the Chantry, and miraculously more or less intact.

"Messere!" Bodahn's face crinkles into a relieved smile. "I couldn't imagine you were anything but well, even in this madness, but...it's good to see you."

Hawke's lips quirk at the idea that she's _well_ after the day's events, but she lets it pass. "Bodahn, I'm glad you're all right. And the others? All the household?"

"Yes, messere, we've all been safe enough. We thought it wisest to lay low until the trouble passed, whatever the trouble is. We've taken in anyone who came to ask for help; I thought you would not object. Your uncle was here some time ago to look for you, but has gone in search of his daughter."

"Good. You might want to leave Kirkwall a little sooner than you'd planned."

Bodahn lets out a slow breath. "It's that bad?"

"That bad and worse. There's not time to explain, I'm afraid." Hawke walks across the room and quickly opens the hidden safe behind a portrait above her writing desk. A trite place for a hidden safe, but it's been there since her grandfather's day and has a good lock, so she's made use of it. "I need you to do a number of things for me, if you will, and after that you can consider your service to me well-concluded."

"Anything, messere. You know that."

Hawke's lips quirk again. If it were anyone else, or another day, she might joke about getting details before making such an offer. But it's not another day. She shuffles through the sets of papers until she finds the one she needs and hands it to him; the others she throws into the fire. Years ago, after her mother's death, she made preparations for the future. For several possible futures, actually, though only this one will now be relevant. "I'm leaving as well; I won't be returning. The documents in here officially cede the estate and most of my property to my uncle Gamlen, on the condition that my cousin always be permitted to live here as well, if she so wishes. There are financial provisions for you and all the other servants as well, and a few personal bequests. It's possible everything be confiscated once outside officials get wind of what's happened here, but as much as you can, will you see that my wishes are carried out?"

She hands out the paperwork. Solemnly, Bodahn takes them, nodding. Hawke nods back. "You already have a place waiting for you in Orlais, I know. Can you take Orana with you, if you can convince her to go outside? She's comfortable with you, she knows you. If she prefers to stay, let her, though I can't imagine that Gamlen's...abrasive attitude is going to be tolerable to her. She's too timid to stand up to him. Even so, she may prefer to stay with the house and Amell family. Will you make sure she's looked after?"

"Easily done, messere."

"You'll have to make my goodbyes to my uncle as well. I'm sorry, I don't envy you that."

Bodahn grops for words. "Have you any...personal message you wish me to give him, messere?"

"Tell him..." she hesitates, thinking of all the possible things she could say, then smiles helplessly. "Tell him I said not to lose it, this time."

Bodahn, who is well-acquainted with Gamlen and their previous history, smiles at this as well. His eyes are filling with tears, however. "Messere...can you tell me where you're going?"

"I don't know myself. And even if I did, it wouldn't be safe for you to know. I expect that sooner or later there will be a lot of people looking for me."

Bodahn nods, accepting this. "Well, I imagine at least Master Anders will be keeping you company, correct?"

Hawke feels her body turn briefly to iron. The sensation is becoming familliar, and she suspects it will stay a constant companion for some time. Without thinking closely on her answer, she says "Yes, he'll be coming."

"Of course. I can't imagine he'd be anywhere else, and it's a comfort to know you won't be traveling alone, at least."

Hawke closes her eyes briefly. No. Not yet. "Yes," she says, noncommittal. "I have to pack in a hurry. Can you find..." She thinks fast. "A large pack and small chest, I think. I can't take more than I can carry, and I'll have to prioritize gold and small valuables I can sell easily. I imagine money is going to be tight for a while..."

* * *

><p>All too soon, she's on the way again. Bodahn, being a miracle-worker, has managed to hire a mule and young boy for a few hours, so she's able to take more than she expected: a spare set of arms and armor, travelling supplies, even a few personal odds and ends. Going through Anders' belongings had been a wrench, as he'd clearly already organized them himself. The lack of mess in his few possessions had said more clearly than any note could have that he'd not expected to survive the day's events and had been putting his life quietly in order beforehand. Though there had been a note, or at least an envelope addressed to her, hidden amongst them. She'd stared at it for what seemed like hours, then burned it, contents unread.<p>

But mixed in with her belongings were some of his, things she knew he would find useful. And a few things for Bethany: the small portrait of their mother as a young girl, a handful of memories from Lothering, what spare clothes might fit.

She guides the mule quickly through the streets, hoping that her clothing and hat and the soot she smeared on her face will be enough of a disguise; if word spreads that the Champion is fleeing the city, there'll be even more chaos. She walks as swiftly as she can get away with without attracting notice. It isn't hard. Between rescue attempts, looters, hysterical townspeople, struggling guards...there's distraction in abundance.

Hawke tries to keep her gaze on the road ahead. This isn't how she wants to remember the city she's lived and worked and fought in for ten years.

Finally, just as the sky is lightening to pale, pre-dawn blue, she reaches the docks. It's busy; her group isn't the only one who was leaving the city, it seems more than one Kirkwaller has had enough. She makes her way through the crowds of cargo and dockworkers to _The Siren's Call_, where Isabela waits at the top of the gangplank, waving. Merrill's head bobs into view for a moment as well, then disappears again. "Is everyone back?" Hawke calls, unhooking her belongings from the mule's back and passing them on to a crewmember, handing a coin to the boy, who takes the mule back to its owner. "Are we ready to sail?"

"Ready and waiting, Hawke." Isabela, alone of all of them, looks joyous. "I forgot to ask, did you have a particular destination in mind?"

Hawke runs up the gangplank, and they are all aboard. "I was thinking _away_."

"Away sounds good, for a start." She cups a hand around her mouth and calls out. "Cast off!"

Hawke steps out of the way and lets the feeling - unfamilliar, it will take some getting used to - of _not_ being the one in charge settle over her. Right now there is nothing for her to do except stand still as the shore begins to recede.

A shadow approaches, reaches out a hand to her shoulder. Hawke tenses and doesn't turn, and Anders, after a pause, walks away.

Eventually Bethany comes to stand beside her and reaches out to squeeze her hand; that, Hawke accepts. "Refugees again," her sister says quietly, wearing a grave smile.

Hawke snorts. "More like fugitives."

"Refugees of a sort. But just us and Calen, this time." She looks down at the mabari, who is, as always, at Hawke's feet.

Not just us, Hawke thinks, but she can't bring herself to look around for the rest of her motley crew. She'll trust Isabela that they're all here and aboard and safe for now. Kirkwall is still on fire, setting the sky aglow. "I'm actually glad Mother isn't able to see this."

Bethany grimaces. "Yes," she agrees. "Although..." She sighs. "We did our best here, but I don't think I'm going to miss Kirkwall very much."

Hawke's other hand tightens on the ship's railing, and she doesn't respond. They both watch in silence as the city grows smaller in the distance.

* * *

><p>After an hour or so they're far enough out on the water that Isabela turns things over to her first mate and gathers the group together to show them their quarters. Most of them are double-berths, small cabins with one bed built into each wall and a small chest leaning against the wall between them. Merrill is clearly relieved and delighted to share space with Bethany, and Varric and Fenris are at least reconciled to being stuck with each other for a time.<p>

"Here, this one'll be yours. Not what you're used to, but one of the best onboard." Isabela opens the door on another small cabin. It is larger than the others they've seen, though not by much; there's a small table and chair as well as the chest and berths, and a small window in the wall.

Hawke walks in, places the rucksack she's been holding on the ground. "Last time I was on a ship I was in the hold. This'll do fine." Without a pause, she continues. "Do you have another for Anders?"

There is a brief moment of hesitation as the words sink in, as Anders grasps the implications of this statement. Hawke doesn't turn, though she can sense his mix of resignation and pain. She can almost hear Isabela shrug. "Not a problem."

"Good. I'm going to sleep for a week."

"Hawke, please-" Anders begins, voice low and anguished.

"Good night," Hawke says, cutting him off and shutting the door behind her without looking up. She stands still for a minute, alone in the room. She hears Isabela's low voice, and the shuffling feet as the pirate pulls the apostate away. Only when the sounds fade does she relax at all.

Hawke unbuckles the sheaths that hold her daggers, undoes her armor and lets it fall too, ignoring the clatter it all makes as it hits the floor. Normally she takes better care of her equipment, but right now she's just too damn tired. She's never been so tired. Divested of the weight of her belongings, she rubs the back of her neck absently with a hand and sits down on the berth, finally able to stop moving and think about the day's events.

She can't. They're too big, too overwhelming. There's too much. Instead she finds herself remembering four years ago, after her mother's death, standing in Aveline's office as she and the guard captain talked about grief.

_Don't let anyone tell you when to move on. Take their hand, and say, 'My choice.'_

She's going to miss Aveline like hell, she knows. Funny how out of all the things that have happened today, that's the one that stings. That's the only one she can process.

_I never wanted to mess up your life like this._

_I think it's just something that happens to friends of yours. Hawke? It's worth it._

Hawke pinches the bridge of her nose, then lies down to wait for sleep.


	2. Isabela, Anders

Isabela is in her element. For the first time in years, she's home; the tides sing to her, the ship speaks to her, ocean winds caress her skin. It's more intoxicating than any drink, any duel, any lover. They've only been at sea a day and already it's as though she never left.

For her, at any rate; the others are not adjusting as well. Seasickness has hit Varric worst, unsurprising given that the dwarf had never set foot onto a ship until now. Merrill and Fenris have also been a bit green in the face, though they're quickly recovering. Bethany and Anders have had no trouble at all, and while Anders at least has some experience from all his years on the run, Bethany's has been minimal; Isabela wonders if it's something to do with their healing magic. Hawke is pale and withdrawn, but it's impossible to tell if that's seasickness or other things. Only Bethany and Merrill have been willing to try eating anything.

Ah well. They'll all get used to it soon enough.

More, she's conscious of a sense of relief. Living in Kirkwall for the past few months has been rather like sailing in a storm. Not for the thunder or lightning, though there were certainly enough fireworks by the end, but because of the feeling that an _enormous_ wave is cresting behind you, and if you're very lucky your ship might be able to ride it, but more likely is that it's going to crash over your head and break your ship and life to pieces. Worse, there's nothing you can do: you can't get out of its way, you can't duck through or around or behind it, all you can do is ride the wave and wait to see what will remain after it hits. During a real storm that moment is exhilirating; having it stretched out over months had been an odd mix of tiresome and unnerving.

The wave has crashed, and as far as Isabela's concerned things could have been much worse. She can feel sorry for everyone who died that night, but they're dead whereas she's still alive, and the latter fact is more impotant to her.

She intensely dislikes having another implacable enemy at her back, however. Arguably Sebastian is only after Anders, and perhaps Hawke, and not Isabela herself. But still...it's only been a few short weeks since they got Castillion off her back, and she was enjoying the feeling of not anticipating a knife between the shoulderblades for a while.

But she has no intentions of letting Sebastian catch up with Hawke. Period.

And her ship, her lovely _Siren_, is a fast and clever girl, a two-masted schooner. Not as powerful as other ships, and without as much space in the hold, but even laden with a full cargo and full crew able to get quite close inland thanks to her shallow draw, which makes her excellent for smuggling. She's built for speed and manueverability, which suits Isabela perfectly. Isabela prefers mobility to power; the best way to not die is to not be there when the blow falls. She has every confidence in her ability to out-manuever anything Starkhaven has to offer, and almost looks forward to the attempt. Perhaps it's just as well that they do still have enemies. Life is so much more exciting during a chase, regardless of if you're predator or prey.

And she has the whole world to run in as she wishes.

No one likes being in the hold, including the crew. It still reeks of slaves, the bodies crushed together for weeks on end, an ingrained taint of fear and despair. It will take time for that to fade, but the rest of the ship is fine, and for now Isabela plans to stick to cargo rather than passengers. That's her preference anyway; cargo doesn't complain, or need food, or panic and get in the way during a minor squall, or tell the authorities about you later. Though smuggling people can pay remarkably well, and she suspects there will soon be quite a market on mages trying to escape from one place to another and willing to pay for the privilege...not a thought she's shared with the others.

That opportunity will appear or not, however; she won't depend on it. Meanwhile she has the names of several merchants along the coast of Thedas who might be interested in some unobtrusive shipping by means of a fast boat skilled in avoiding guards and taxes, a few dwarven businessmen who might willing to provide lyrium, a few contacts who might be willing to purchase it. If Circles do start to fall, the black market for lyrium could go through the roof...

Isabela shakes off the distracting vision of future profit and returns to the task at hand. Her friends - and what a delicious word that is, still a surprise and pleasure to her, though she doesn't admit it - are all gathered together in the Captain's stateroom. It's a temporary room, usually; walls can be taken down and replaced to create space when needed, but Isabela is thinking that for this voyage she'll leave it open as a gathering space for all of them, away from the rest of the crew. It's certainly the most comfortable place aboard ship, and the most attractive. At least, it is since she replaced that hideous mustard satin...what _was_ Castillon thinking? The man had _no_ taste.

"Now that we have time for a proper introduction, welcome onboard my ship." She grins, feeling again the thrill of _my ship_. "Since some of you haven't been at sea before, and certainly haven't had me as a captain before, a few ground rules you'll all need to be aware of."

"Rules? From the Rivaini?" Varric mutters. "This ought to be good."

"Shush, you'll ruin the moment. First, and this is serious, _be careful with fire_." Isabela looks at each of the mages in particular. "Fire can sink us quicker than you want to know. All sailors know that, but you might not, so watch those sparking fingers."

Merrill tentatively raises a hand. "Um, we can put out fires as well as starting them."

Isabela brightens at once. "I didn't know that. You're full of useful tricks, Kitten. Please do, if it seems appropriate. Next rule, the alcohol is _strictly_ rationed, so no taking more than your share. If we run out before we make it to our next port the crew will mutiny." She grins. "Not that we couldn't deal with that, but if we kill them it'll make sailing the ship damned difficult; it takes a crew of fifty to seventy to keep my Siren running smoothly, and all of them are _very_ devoted to their drink. Sailors usually are. Don't get between them and the grog."

"Captain excepted, of course?" Fenris asks, sardonic.

Isabela shrugs. "I don't drink while at sea."

Everyone stares at her.

She frowns. "What? It's true!"

Anders looks at her with open disbelief. "Are you sure you haven't been possessed?"

"You're one to talk," Fenris growls.

Isabela ignores this. "Being master of a ship requires discipline. Everyone has their responsibilities but ultimately it comes down to me. I can hardly enforce discipline if I don't keep it myself."

"I didn't think you knew what the word meant," Anders says.

"It's because I know what it means that I'm so wild onshore. Might as well get my kicks while I can, you know?" She looks wistful for a moment, but shrugs again. "I don't deny I'll miss it, but the ocean is better." Which is true. More than true, though she suspects they'll never really understand that. "Now, most captains don't allow gambling onboard, but I do; what's life without some risk, and what fun is risk without the chance of profit?"

"Thank Andraste," Varric says fervently. "I was beginning to think this would be the most boring trip ever."

"With us around?" Merrill chirps. "That's unlikely."

"Too true," Fenris agrees.

"What can we do onboard, exactly?" Hawke asks. "Last time I was on a boat I sat in the hold and did nothing for two weeks. I'd rather not repeat that."

Everyone turns to look at her; it's the first time she's said anything today, and she hasn't spoken to anyone except Isabela and Bethany since they left. It's left them all...uncentered, ungrounded, and they turn to her automatically, but she ignores them and just waits for Isabela to answer.

Isabela shrugs. "Up to you. I have enough crew, but if we lose some along the way - and we almost certainly will, to disease or desertion or something or another - I may need to commandeer any of you to help keep things running. So if you want to learn the craft, _I'm_ not about to object. Time onboard a boat tends to flip between being very, very busy, and incredibly dull. There's time to teach anyone who's interested during the dull bits. You'd be surprised how much of it just involves scrubbing things."

"Andraste's breasts," Varric groans, looking greener than ever. "No."

"You'll start feeling better soon, Varric. I already have, and I was sick for a week last time. It's better if you're in the open air." Merrill pats Varric awkwardly on the back; he winces.

"Unless you want the contents of my stomach on your shoes, Daisy, stop doing that."

"But I don't wear - oh! Right." She stops patting and shifts away, looking apologetic.

"If you're not helping the crew, try to stay out of their way. If any of them bother you, try not to do any _permanent_ damage, and tell me afterwards. And any of you are welcome in here, anytime," Isabela concludes. "Which is a privilege, by the way, so enjoy it."

There's a long moment of silence, then Anders - after looking at Hawke, who's now looking out one of the windows - asks, "What's our destination?"

Isabela also glances at Hawke before answering, but Hawke shows no interest whatsoever in the answer. "Llomeryn. I have some cargo I know I can unload there, and it's the best place to find out about other jobs that need doing. It should take us about six weeks to get there. We'll make a few stops along the coast on the way, though I haven't decided exactly where yet. I'll let you know when I do." She flashes a wicked grin at all of them. "You'll like Llomeryn. All sorts of trouble to get into there."

"I think we have enough trouble on our hands just now, thank you," Bethany murmurs.

"Oh, but this will be much more fun trouble. You'll see."

Varric clutches his stomach. "I'll go anywhere that has land. Preferably as soon as possible."

Isabela waits a moment, but none of the others object or speak up, so she claps her hands together. "All agreed then, end of lecture. I have to go be captain and make sure everyone's doing their jobs properly; this early in a voyage they'll be testing me to see what they can get away with."

"I'll come with you," Hawke says, standing. "I'd like to know how a ship works."

Isabela grins. "I'll give you the grand tour." She holds the door open for Hawke, and they go out into the open air; the others leave behind them, wandering to their various preferred destinations, but Isabela doesn't bother to watch. "Do you know anything about the basic layout of a schooner?" she starts.

Hawke raises an eyebrow. "What's a schooner? I thought this was a boat."

Isabela chuckles. "Right, from the beginning then..."

Things could definitely be worse. She has a beauty of a ship, comrades close at hand, and a number of opportunities for excitement in her future. She whistles as she lets the door close behind her, and could not be more content.

* * *

><p>Anders has never felt more alone, which says a great deal.<p>

He spends a lot of his time watching people. Ostensibly he's the ship's physician - Isabela asked, and he was relieved to be given some sort of place - but so far there's not much work for him, and lurking below deck in the area designated as his clinic feels too solitary. At least on deck he has the illusion of companionship. He joins in with the crew sometimes; he's worked on boats before, during his years on the run, and there's always menial work to be done. But mostly he watches people, especially his companions. Former companions. He doesn't know which it is, or should be.

Aside from Isabela, Merrill is the most outgoing member of their group, to everyone's surprise. Once her initial seasickness is passed she seems to fall in love with the new experience of living on a ship. It doesn't take a day before she's climbing ropes with more grace than even the most experienced sailors, and she spends astonishing amounts of time up in the crow's nest. Every so often she'll laugh at the sight of a bird or whale or wave, and the sound of it echoes down to the deck and makes most of the crew smile. Isabela has made it very, very clear that Merrill is not to be intimidated or interfered with - though she hasn't mentioned that this as much for the crew's sake as the elf's.

Anders has heard a few of the sailors make suggestive comments at her even so, and seen them be nonplussed when Merrill completely misses or misinterprets them. Few try anymore; instead most have adopted her as a sort of mascot. Bethany had more trouble, but a quiet word from Isabela, and a not-so-quiet word from Hawke, has ensured that there's been no repeat incidents. Anders and Fenris each had a few offers, quietly refused in the case of the former and aggressively in the case of the latter, because Fenris can't seem to do anything without aggression, even here. Varric had one too, but inevitably it lead to stories of the mystery of Bianca, which lead just as inevitably to stories of Hawke.

Between that and other things, it is perhaps not surprising that no one has suggested anything to Hawke herself, so far as he knows. But then, she barely seems a woman at all these days. She keeps as busy and active as possible, learning shipmanship from Isabela, climbing up to the crow's nest with Merrill, spending time with Bethany and the mabari, listening to Varric's stories, dicing with Fenris and the crew. She doesn't talk much. She doesn't laugh at all.

That last is what hurts Anders most to see, more than the fact that she won't speak with him. She won't even look at him. If he approaches, she finds an excuse to move dexterously away without it appearing obvious that's what she's doing. It's the same smoothness Isabela displays when avoiding being hit by a weapon in battle, and Anders can tell Hawke is avoiding him for the same reason. And because he doesn't want to hurt her more than he already has - if that's even possible - he finally stops trying to approach her, and just watches from a distance as best he can, wondering what in the hell to do with the mess that's become his life. The mess he's made of her life.

He could say this wasn't what he intended, but it wouldn't be accurate. He knew all these things would happen. He just didn't think he'd be here to experience it, and there's a sickened part of his stomach that knows it was partly his old cowardice that was responsible for that. It's so much easier to cause damage if you don't expect to be around to see the consequences. He'd imagined them, a thousand times over, but seeing them is...worse. And he hasn't seen all of the consequences of his actions, he knows. Barely the surface.

He can't undo it. Perhaps the worst is, he wouldn't if he could. Anders has regrets, scores of them, he even has doubts. But the feeling of being stretched past the breaking point is gone. What he did _will_ change the world, for the better, even if it takes years of warfare before they get to that point; he's sure, and the fact grounds him as nothing else could. The stalemate is over. No matter how often he thinks about what happened or wonders what could have been done differently, he can't be anything but relieved at that. Even exultant, sometimes. Even at this price.

But it doesn't mean he knows what to do with himself. He's torn in so many directions...part of him wants to jump ship, swim to land, find the nearest Circle and tell them about Kirkwall, show them they _can_ be free, and make it happen. Part of him screams that he deserves to be dead, that he has to pay for the lives he took at the Chantry. Justice calls for it, and he wants to answer, and he doesn't know which call is stronger. All of him aches for Hawke, and that pain holds him motionless. He doesn't know whether to ask her forgiveness, demand that she join him, beg her to kill him, or kiss her until they can't breathe. He does know that this silence between them is choking him, and he'd prefer _any_ outcome to staying in it.

But he doesn't seem to have any options, at least not at the moment. He can't leave the ship, even if he wanted to; not yet, at any rate. Even if an opportunity arises later, he doesn't know if Hawke will let him leave. She's seemed determined to stay with him, for all that she doesn't acknowledge him directly. His lover turned gaoler.

And even though he itches for movement, action, resolution, _something_...he doesn't want to leave her. Especially not when she's like this. He'd give anything to be able to comfort and help her, and he's the one person who can't.

He'd rather be in a real prison, where he could see the bars.

"You're not wearing your feathers."

Anders looks up to see Merrill looking disappointed, and shrugs. It's true; on the ship he only wears his loose shirt and breeches, not his usual mage robes and armor. "Not much need for pauldrons here."

"But don't you get cold? There's so much wind!" She sits next to him. "I always thought of the sea as being empty, I never expected all this wind."

Anders just shrugs again. Merrill isn't company he would have chosen back in Kirkwall, and she treats him with a mixture of sympathy and pity, which is _maddening_ coming from a _blood mage_. But frankly he's glad for _anyone_ to talk to at the moment. Any distraction from his circular, trapped thoughts. "I thought you'd traveled across the ocean before. Didn't your clan come from Ferelden?"

"I was in the hold, not on deck. It was awful, I was sick the whole time." She smiles up at the open sky. "This is much better. Isabela told me it would be, but I didn't believe her. Have you been up to the crow's nest?"

"Maker, no!"

"Oh, you should! The view is wonderful."

"I think I'll keep my feet on the ground, thanks," Anders says firmly.

"What ground? We're on a boat."

"The closest to it I can get, then."

There's a long moment of quiet as they listen to ship sounds; various shouts as crew pass information to each other, the rhythmic clanking chains as they move in time with the ocean swells, gulls overhead.

"How are you, really?" Merrill asks abruptly. She clenches her hands. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I wanted to ask. Especially since it doesn't seem like anyone else is."

_That_ catches Anders by surprise. "You want to know how I am?"

She gives him an odd look. "Of course I do. Why shouldn't I?"

He starts to try and put it in words, then stops. _Everyone else is avoiding me, so why aren't you?_ can't possibly go anywhere good. And he can guess why. She seems to feel they are kin now, and perhaps she has a point. He can't deny he has as much or more blood on his hands as she does, even if it's never been as literal. He's always despised blood mages for their lack of self-control, viewed their giving in to darker temptations as a weakness, but it's impossible to view himself as superior after what he did, no matter what his goal was in doing it.

Merrill looks back up at the sky. "I was talking to Fenris, once-"

Anders breaks in to say, sardonically, "I can't imagine why you'd want to do that."

"I was worried about you. I told him I thought you'd broken the thing you were trying to save." She hugs her knees. "He said I felt sorry for you because you were me."

_Broken the thing you were trying to save..._ He thinks briefly of all the mages who died in the battle after the Chantry's destruction, sacrifices for those who will come after. Unwilling sacrifices. _How many of my own people did I kill, indirectly?_ And then he thinks of the look in Hawke's eyes as she asked what he'd done, just before she found out for herself. Anders has to swallow several times before there's enough moisture in his throat to let him speak again. "I'm not sorry. Or rather, I am, but I'd still do it again. It was necessary." He doesn't know if it's true or if he's trying to convince himself.

"I envy your belief."

"You said that before."

"It's still true. It must be a comfort to you." She looks down and adds softly, "I wish I still had that."

"It's not as much of a comfort as you might think."

"I know. I thought what I was doing was necessary, too."

He sighs. "Fine. We have something in common. Are you happy now?"

There is a long moment of silence, and then she whispers. "No. And...we have more in common than you think."

Anders is going to dismiss that cryptic comment, but then catches her intense, sorrowful gaze. She's looking at the main deck, where Hawke is standing, talking to Varric. Or more accurately, listening while Varric talks; Hawke's just staring off towards the horizon, expression unfocused and blank. Merrill's expression, on the other hand, screams yearning more than any words could.

A dozen images and impressions suddenly join into a picture with a clarity that leaves Anders shaken, and a rush of emotion hits him: a possessiveness he no longer has any right to, the now-familiar punch of grief, followed by...sympathy. "I...didn't know. I'm sorry."

Merrill shrugs. "Well, it was never...important. I didn't really..." She stops, and swallows. "She wouldn't have...I never expected..." She stops again, biting her lip. Her lack of ability to find words is more eloquent than words themselves would be, given her usual tendency to babble on. Finally she shrugs again. "It was never very important," she repeats quietly. "It...it was enough to be able to travel with her, to be her friend. I made that be enough. Except now...I miss her. She's right here, but I still miss her. Isn't that strange?"

Anders looks back up to the deck. Isabela's joined the other two there, and whatever she's saying involves expansive arm gestures and makes Varric laugh. Hawke smiles a bit, and her stance is deceptively casual, but Anders lived with her for over three years and can read the screaming tension. It's been there ever since they left; he's beginning to think it's going to be there forever, and he no longer has permission to try to ease it, or even acknowledge it.

"No," he says softly. "No, that doesn't sound strange at all."


	3. Varric

Varric spends most of his time writing. For him this voyage is extremely useful, in a way. No Merchants' Guild meetings to attend, no problems to take care of, no need to arrange bribes, he can lock himself in his cabin and scribble to his heart's content. Which is good, because he has a lot of work to do. He'll have to pay for it later; the business empire he's spent years building will be in a shambles. But it would've been a shambles if he stayed as well, and half the fun is building it. Maintaining a business empire is much less interesting and involves a lot more paperwork.

Unlike the others, he's determined to return to Kirkwall eventually, even though he knows he'll return alone. Like Aveline, he's put too much work into the city to let it go, and he was born there. It's his. But he's not ready to part company from Hawke and the others just yet, and it's helpful to have them around while he writes her story.

The story of the Champion of Kirkwall. Varric's always been a storyteller, and this is the sort of tale that only comes along once in a lifetime. He's damned if he'll let the opportunity slip away from him. This will be his masterpiece, and he writes with all the frenzy of an artist, until his hand is cramped and sheets of paper litter the floor. Ostensibly he shares his cabin with Fenris, but the elf spends most of his nights with Isabela, which is fortunate as there's not much room in here for anyone but Varric and the pressure of the Tale.

A knock on the door interrupts him, which is annoying; he'd just gotten a good line of description going, and doesn't bother to answer, just dips his quill in the ink and keeps writing.

The door opens. "Go away," he says, without looking up.

"It's my ship, you can't tell me to go away." Isabela steps through the door. "I liked you better when you were seasick. Remember Varric, if you neglect Bianca too much she might leave you for me after all."

"Rivaini, you know not to flirt with Bianca. There's only room in her heart for one dwarf. Don't annoy her." Varric looks up; he knows Isabela won't leave until she's said whatever she's here to say, so he might as well let her get on with it. His train of thought will just have to wait.

"I could never annoy Bianca. She adores me."

"Whatever you say. Did you have anything to talk about, or did you come in here just to try and lure Bianca away from me?"

Isabela shrugs. "We'll be docking soon. Only for a few hours, but if you want the chance to jump ashore and pick up supplies, this is your chance."

"Thank Andraste!" Varric tosses down his quill. "I'm nearly out of paper. I was wondering if I'd have to start writing on the walls."

Her eyes flash. "Don't even think about writing on my ship."

"I'll make you a deal, Rivaini; I won't vandalize the Siren if you stop trying to seduce my crossbow."

Isabela pouts. "You don't want me to have _any_ fun," she complains as she leaves.

Varric grabs his quill again and scribbles a last few words, then caps the ink tightly shut-he's running out of that too, he lost a few bottles by accident when he underestimated how much the damn ship would rock around. At least he's not puking up his guts anymore. For the first time in his life he relates to the traditional dwarven love of stone. Good, hard stone stays put when you're on it. If it weren't for Hawke and the Tale, he'd be running back to Kirkwall as fast as his legs could carry him. Well, someone's legs, no point in using his own legs when there are longer ones available.

He opens his door to a glare of sunlight and noise. The noise, he realizes, has been going on all along, he'd just been ignoring it while concentrating. That's another thing that had never occured to him about ships. They're _never_ quiet. Clanking chains, creaking wood, shouting men, roaring wind, crashing waves...Varric's not one to prefer a quiet life, but this is ridiculous. He's had to improvise a pair of earplugs in order to sleep at night. He's going to have to rewrite all his pirate romances...

"Varric. Going ashore?"

Hawke looks down at him, half-smiling; Varric fires a grin at her in return. He's glad to see a smile from Hawke, even if it's just a partial one. Even his most outrageous lies barely get a reaction from her nowadays, she's so damn grim. "Damn straight I am. Any time spent not on this boat is good time. You?"

She shakes her head. "Probably not a good idea. Even without my armor, the Champion could be recognized. We can do without the hassle. Can you pick up a few things for me?"

"Sure, anything to give me an excuse to linger on dry land. What do you need?"

She hands him a list. Nothing exciting, just a few small items, should be easy for him to get ahold of. He nods. "Not a problem, Hawke."

"What'd you do with your armor?" Isabela asks, joining them. "I was wondering."

Hawke grimaces. "Left it. I'm not the Champion anymore, after all. And it's much too identifiable." There's a brief, awkward moment, which she attempts to banish by shrugging. "I had two spare sets, brought both of those. They'll work as well if we run into fighting."

"More like when," Varric points out.

Hawke half-smiles again. "When, then."

"I certainly hope it's soon," Isabela sighs. "I haven't had a good brawl since we left. I'll lose my touch at this rate."

"It's only been a week, Isabela."

"So? That's a long time to be deprived. Of all sorts of things." She leers. "Maybe I should challenge _you_ to a duel, sweetheart."

Hawke raises an eyebrow. "Are you referring to the horizontal variety or the type with weapons?"

"As soon as you tell me the difference, I'll let you know."

"All this innuendo is lovely, ladies, but some of us have things to do," Varric interrupts. The ship has docked during their conversation, and he can see the crew lowering the gangplank.

"One thing, first." Hawke looks at Isabela, face set and closed. "Anders is not to leave the ship."

Isabela raises an eyebrow. "What, and I'm supposed to prevent him? What am I supposed to do, lock him up if he resists?"

"If necessary, yes."

"I prefer my partners in that sort of thing to be willing participants, you know."

Hawke doesn't react even to this. "Please, Isabela. For me."

Isabela groans. "You just had to put it that way, didn't you...fine. I'll do what I can. If I need to. _This_ time. But only this time, and only because I agree that it wouldn't be a good idea this close to Kirkwall."

Hawke nods and wanders off, getting herself out of sight. Isabela steps back, muttering under her breath, "Though how she expects me to restrain a mage against his will is beyond me."

"Use your feminine wiles, Rivaini. They've never failed you yet." Varric leans against the wall next to her, thoughtful at this new development. Hawke hasn't so much as mentioned Anders since they left, and any attempt to discuss him with her has been met with evasion. This should be an improvement, but he suspects it isn't.

"Hah. Even if I wanted to seduce Anders - which I don't, he's much too mopey for me nowadays - I doubt I could manage it. He takes it all much too seriously and he's been fixated on Hawke for years."

"You're mean you're not irresistible? You're ruining a legend here."

"Don't tell anyone. My reputation needs all the help it can get. Speaking of which, you'd better be saying only nice things about me in that book of yours, or you and it are going into the brink."

"The beautiful, ruthless pirate queen who could steal the heart of the Maker himself? You'll live forever, Rivaini."

"I wish." Isabela smiles, shaking her head. "So long as I'm _alive_ every moment, that's enough," she says quietly, more to herself than him.

Varric chuckles. "Do I catch the hint of a philosophy there, Rivaini?"

She grins. "What can I say? I like to keep men guessing. Go ashore, Paragon. The tide will turn sooner than you think."

"It always does," Varric mutters as he walks away. "Good line, though, I should remember that one."

His errands take some time; he has two contacts in this city, but hadn't ever met either of them in person, and one forgets the sign and countersign he'd so painstakingly set up years ago when developing his information network. Really, he can't get good people for love or money nowadays. Well, a lot of money, maybe.

His contacts don't have much news from Kirkwall; others have fled the city and arrived here, but not many, and all of them left either just before or at the same time they had. That's good, to Varric's mind; it means no one's caught up with them yet. On the other hand, it's frustrating to not know what's going on back there. He makes arrangements for information to spread over the coastline, and pays his contacts a great deal to ensure they'll keep silent about his whereabouts. He also lies and says they're on their way to Highever, in case all that money is wasted and they talk to the wrong people anyway. It's believable, and will help cause confusion. Varric is a great believer in the power of confusion.

It's hours before he gets back. When he returns, Isabela's standing pretty much where he left her and overseeing a number of truly huge barrels being rolled onboard. He juts his chin towards them. "What's in those?"

"Fresh water," she says absently, not really paying attention to him; she's distracted by her crew. "Move it, you lily-livered scumbags! Get those into the hold and get on-board, unless you want to be left here to rot!"

"Such charming language," Varric compliments her. He looks around; Merrill's climbed back up in the rigging, but he doesn't see any of the others. "How'd Blondie take the news he wasn't allowed offship?"

Isabela grimaces. "Gloweringly. Some men are attractive when they glower. He's not one of them. I think I even caught a flicker of blue, but all he did stomp off without saying anything."

"Huh. From Blondie, _not_ ranting is a bad sign."

"You're not kidding. I wish he and Hawke would just have their angry make-up sex and get it over with. I don't know why they're waiting. Angry make-up sex is one of the best types there is."

So he's not the only one who's worried. Hardly surprising. The question is, will Hawke do anything about the situation or let it fester? Probably the latter. Not good. Their glorious leader's not going to be in any shape to lead anyone anywhere if she's ignoring her most immediate problem. This is going to require some thought. "Don't ask me, Rivaini. I'm a fighter, not a lover."

"Pull the other one, Paragon. I've read all your books."

"I know, it's very gratifying. One day I might even dedicate one to you."

Isabela laughs. "Now _that's_ something to look forward to!"

Most of their companions aren't around, but Varric does notice someone unusual. Sitting on the opposite side of the ship, leaning against the wall, are what look to be a family: mother, father, a young boy, perhaps twelve years old. The parents look somewhere between worried and relieved, and the boy like he's perpetually annoyed. Varric would guess from the quality and style of their clothes that they're Kirkwall nobles, or were until recently. That's unexpected. "Who's the new group?"

"More people on the run. My guess is the kid's a mage and they're fleeing the Templars. They were able to pay to get on the fastest ship out of Kirkwall that night, but it foundered offshore." Isabela shrugs. "They're paying me handsomely to get them further away. Who am I to turn away a family in need?"

"Your altruism is an inspiration, Rivaini."

The last of the barrels is rolled on board, and Isabela gets distracted by directing the crew to cast off. Varric helpfully gets out of the way. As they set sail, he vaguely considers watching the shore disappear, but decides it'd be too depressing. Besides, he has more ink now. But as he approaches the door that leads to the cabins, it opens, and Anders steps out, scowling. "Am I allowed out yet?"

Varric holds up his hands. "Down, Blondie. You know no one here's trying to cage you."

"Could've fooled me." It comes out as a snarl, but Anders almost at once looks as though he regrets it. "Sorry, Varric. I don't mean to snap at you. It's just..." he trails off.

"Yeah, well, you haven't exactly been trustworthy lately, Blondie." Anders grimaces, silently acknowledging the point. "And this was for practical reasons," Varric continues. "Too unlikely you're anonymous here. Hawke didn't go ashore either."

Anders frowns, more in confusion this time than anger. "I...didn't realize that."

Varric grins. "We're wanted criminals, Blondie. Probably got prices on our heads and everything."

"_That's_ nothing new." Anders suddenly catches sight of the family standing on the deck, and his eyes go wide. "What are they doing here?"

"Running like hell, same as us."

"That's Mikal's family," Anders murmurs. "I'm sure of it. He pointed them out to me once, asked me to keep an eye on his brother if anything happened to him. How did-"

It's at that moment that the boy, feeling someone's eyes on him, looks over. He immediately looks furious and jumps to his feet. "_You!_" he shouts. "You should be dead! How dare you still be alive after what you did?"

That gets everyone's attention, including the crew, and Anders takes a step backwards in shock. The boy's parents, flustered, are trying to calm their son down, but he's having none of it and his eyes are blazing.

The boy's mother leans down and whispers something frantically; the boy shakes his head in refusal. "I'm sure it's him! He did it, I was there, I heard him say he did it!" He whirls back towards Anders. "You took everything we had!" he shouts. "What safety mages had...there wasn't much of it, but at least there was some! Now there's none anywhere, because of _you!_ My brother is dead because of you!" His hands are clenched, and any second now he's going to grab a weapon, any weapon, or attack Anders with his bare fists if he has to. Anders just stands, stricken and silent. Varric growls under his breath and reaches for Bianca, just in case.

And then Hawke is there.

She doesn't even have to do anything, that's what's so impressive. She just stands there, radiating...something. Even Varric has a hard time finding a word for it. It'd be intimidation if there was any threat, but there isn't. Heroism, maybe. Unlike many, Varric knows that real heroism is not romantic, even though he writes it to be. But it does command attention.

Her voice is low and impassive when she finally speaks. "Don't reach out for vengeance, kid. It'll reach back. And it's worse than darkspawn taint. It won't just poison you, it'll poison everything you care about."

It's perhaps the certitude that reaches through the boy's rage and silences him. His family pull him away, and finally, after a moment's reluctance, he goes, alternating angry stares at Anders and confused ones at Hawke. Hawke doesn't move, just watches him go. Only after the boy is safely out of sight does she turn to walk back up to the quarterdeck. As she passes Anders she pauses, and without looking at him, says quietly, "It'd probably be best for you to stay out of sight until they leave the ship."

Anders' eyes go wide; finally, he nods. Hawke returns to the quarterdeck, where Isabela has been watching all this. After a moment of looking after her, Anders flees back towards his own cabin.

Unless Varric's very much mistaken, which he rarely is, that's the first time Hawke's spoken to Anders since they left Kirkwall.


End file.
